An Unexpected Gift

By BadgerGater

E-mail: [email protected]

Pairing: None

Season: Five or before, not specified

Spoilers: None

Warnings: None

Summary: Jack's sooo not having a good Christmas

Ratings: PG

Disclaimer: Stargate et al is the property of MGM, Gekko, Etc. etc. No copyright infringement intended.

Author’s Note: This is late, I know, but I had a hard time finding my Christmas spirit this year, seems I was as bah humbugish as the Good Colonel. But I found it at last, thanks to Judy and Corine; with special thanks to Judy.......

-------------------

Oh Hol-y… “shit!”

So, okay, it was Christmas and he should be thinking Oh Holy Night, not cursing. Of course, he also shouldn’t be slogging along through the mud, in the dark, on some God forsaken worthless planet a billion billion billion miles from Earth where obviously no one had ever head of Christmas. Hell, it was so pitch dark, he could have stumbled right into a hole in this miserable excuse for a road on this piss-poor excuse for a planet. Not that he needed to fall into a hole, because Jack O’Neill was already hip-deep in the morass of Christmas bah-humbugism.

Yeah, so he knew he had no one to blame but himself. He’d been dumb enough to volunteer for this stupid mission. See where the Christmas spirit gets you, eh, Jack? he reminded himself morosely. After all, the *very* first thing he’d *ever* learned about survival in the military, was never, ever, under no circumstances whatsoever, volunteer for anything. And they'd been right. See what you got for trying to do the right thing? Which, incidentally, never turned out to be a good thing for Jonathan ‘See the Target Painted Right There in the Middle of my Back’ O’Neill, Colonel, United States Air Force, Earth.

Whatever incredibly stupid bit of sudden pity for SG-7 (who’d been assigned this Christmas mission) had led Jack to volunteer to take the team leader’s place, had turned into self-pity hours ago when the friendly natives had turned not so friendly, and O'Neill had been on the receiving end of a well-aimed arrow. Seemed the inhabitants of Planet No Good All Bad and
Incredibly Ugly didn’t have the Christmas spirit, either. Turned out there was some sort of civil war going on, as the visitors from Earth had figured out much too late, *after* they’d stumbled into the middle of a battle.

“Damn!” Jack cursed, slipping in the mud, causing another jolt of pain to wash through his damaged thigh. He could feel the bandage sliding with each step, the edge catching on the broken off end of the arrow still sticking in his flesh inches above his knee.

Daniel had been pressed into SG-1 medic duty since Carter missed out on the privilege of coming to planet Oh So ugly. She’d had the good sense to leave two days for her brother’s home in San Diego and therefore missed out on this cursed mission, which only proved how smart Carter really was. Unlike the male members of SG-1, Jack thought sadly.

Jack forced himself to take another step. His leg hurt like hell, which was doing nothing to improve his already sour mood. Half an hour ago O’Neill had begun to feel the warm blood soaking through the bandage and slipping down his leg, but it was too dark and too risky to stop, so he hadn’t bothered to say anything to the others. He couldn’t blame Daniel, who’d done a first rate first aid job, Jack had to admit. And, while he was on the honest confession kick, he’d have to say that Daniel did do that fine job despite the way Jack had cursed and leveled a colorful array of curses at the natives while Daniel snapped off the exposed end of the arrow embedded in the flesh of his thigh. A tightly wrapped dressing from the First-Aid kit had slowed the bleeding around the wound, but since they were forced to move out quickly in the hope of eluding the angry natives and reaching the Stargate before they all came to further harm, Jack had had to settle for a couple of Tylenol instead of some nice, peace on Earth inducing morphine.

Tylenol really didn’t help much when you had a big and honkin’ ragged hole in your body.

Especially when you were slipping and sliding on a rough, dark, muddy road, the only, and far too faint, illumination provided by a single bright star low on the eastern horizon. They’d been following the star for hours, their only guide through the dark night in unfamiliar and all too hostile territory.

“Damn!” Jack swore again as in the dark he misjudged a step, or maybe his wounded leg just gave out. Either way, he landed, painfully, on hands and knees in the mud.

“Jack?” Daniel’s voice was worried as the team’s archeologist came back to help his friend. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. I’m just laying on the ground because I always enjoy a good mud bath on Christmas,” the Colonel answered. “O’Neill family tradition. Very Irish. Mud’s good for the skin, you know.”

In the darkness, Jack couldn’t see Jackson’s expression, just barely discerned the shake of the head. “So your leg is hurting a lot?”

Jack said nothing.

Another form materialized out of the darkness. “We should seek shelter, a place for O’Neill to rest,” Teal’c’s calm voice suggested.

“No time for that,” Jack grunted as he levered himself upright by grabbing onto Daniel’s hand.

Daniel, in turn, threw O’Neill’s arm over his shoulder. “You better let me help, Jack.”

They struggled on through the darkness.

'Back home, folks are sitting in front of a warm fire, opening gifts, singing carols, eating hot food,' Jack thought miserably as he forced himself onward. 'I could be doing that, well, home in front of my fireplace with a hot toddy at least,' he admitted. 'But no, I had to be Colonel Good Guy because I felt sorry for young Captain Ferguson having to work on Christmas.' That misguided bit of holiday do-goodism had prompted Jack to volunteer, which had led Teal’c to agree to come along, since he didn’t celebrate Christmas, and then Daniel had said, well, he could, go, too, since he really didn’t have any plans, so all of SG-7 got to stay home.

See where being nice on Christmas gets you? Lost in some stinking cold, wet, dark forest on some nameless planet, being chased by pissed off natives, and the only warm feeling you have is that of the blood you can feel trickling steadily down your leg.

Well, let’s see. Red and green, Christmas colors. Green trees. Red blood.

Nice, Jack. Very Christmasy.

O’Neill’s mood darkened with each painful, hobbling step.
******

Suddenly, Teal’c stopped. “O’Neill, I believe we have reached the crossroads, near the
village,” he addressed his commander. Although Colonel O’Neill had not requested a rest, it was obvious to the Jaffa that his commander was exhausted and weakened by his wound. Time for rest and recuperation was needed. Their long hours of travel had taken them out of enemy territory at last, and once again into an area where the natives had initially made them welcome. “We could find haven in the village.”

“The innkeeper was friendly,” Daniel reminded SG-1’s leader. The trio had stayed in the small medieval style inn when they’d first arrived on the planet. “Maybe we could even find a healer…”

Jack thought longingly of the SGC, of the infirmary, actually, where there would be warmth and light and Doc’s good pain reducing drugs. If he could get that far. Which, in all honestly, he knew was pretty unlikely. His good leg was trembling with weariness, his injured one was throbbing persistently, and, if he admitted it, he was beginning to feel a little light headed.

“You must rest, O’Neill.” Teal’c insisted.

Okay, if Teal’c said so, then it must be so. “Yeah,” the Colonel waved a hand at the distant dim lights. “Village it is.”

Another half hour of hard walking, Jack now leaning on both his companions like animate crutches, they reached the outskirts of the village at last.

“I’ll go get us a room,” Daniel offered, helping Jack to sit on a low wall that partitioned the inn from the street.

“I will stay here with O’Neill,” Teal’c suggested.

Daniel nodded. “Back in a minute.” He was gone two, actually, and returned quickly. In the dim light that filtered out the shuttered windows of the building, even Jack could see worry written on the archaeologist's face. “There aren’t any rooms. Seems the town is full. Refugees from the fighting have filled all the accommodations. But Drakus, the innkeeper, he said we could sleep over there if we wanted.” Daniel pointed at a long, low building behind the inn.

“The barn?” O’Neill asked, incredulously. “Oh for cryin’ out loud. Let’s just go home,” he snapped and pushed himself to his feet, or tried to. The too-sudden motion made his head spin dizzily, and he’d have hit the street if it hadn’t been for Teal’c’s quick hands grabbing onto his shoulder.

“You are not well enough to go on, O’Neill. The barn will shelter us from the wet and the cold.”

Carefully, Daniel and Teal’c helped Jack toward the building, dodging a group of shepherds and their flock of sheep, camped in the courtyard. Cautiously, they opened the door of the barn. Warm air wafted out, and while it did carry the distinct odor of horses and cattle, it *was* warm and dry.

“Ah, nothing like a bit of fresh country air to make the day complete,” Jack noted dryly.

Spotting a pile of unoccupied straw in the corner, Daniel pointed. “Over there?”

“Indeed.” Teal’c agreed.

They’d taken another step before they heard a rustle in the straw, and saw a human head poke above a partition.

“Who are you?” asked the stranger.

“Guess we’re not the only folks here, huh?” Jack sighed.

“You are not,” said the voice. “My wife and I, we are peaceful folk, fleeing the battle.”

“Us, too,” Jack muttered. “Just in need of some rest.”

“There was no room in the inn,” said the man, sadly.

“We know,” Jack agreed as Daniel and Teal’c helped him over to the straw pile. Jack sank down slowly, biting back a groan as his leg touched down on the rough bed. Daniel quickly pulled out his sleeping bag and laid it over O’Neill, while Teal’c slid his pack behind the Colonel’s gray haired head. By the flickering light of his flashlight, Daniel rummaged through his backpack, digging out a fresh dressing and placing it over the old, blood soaked bandage. Jack lay with one hand thrown over his face, biting his lip silently as Daniel tied the dressing tightly into place,.

Daniel finished fixing the dressing in place. “Done.” With a sigh, Jack settled back.

And then they heard it… the woman, in the stall next to them, crying out in pain.

“What the…?” Jack sat up, staring around, as Daniel jumped to his feet.

Teal’c, on guard by the door, spun around, his staff weapon in hand.

The woman cried out again.

Daniel peered around the partition, seeing the man and his wife, the woman writhing upon their blankets.

“My wife, she is with child. And her time has come…” the man looked frantic with worry.

“Well, help her Daniel,” Jack ordered. After all, SG-1’s archaeologist had delivered Allekos and Setes’ baby on Argos.

Daniel did.

As SG-1’s scholar coached the woman, Jack sank back on his blankets, trying to rest and futilely attempting to ignore the memories of that long-ago night he’d spent coaching Sara through labor. Off and on, he could hear Daniel and the man talking or the wife’s tired voice, and then after a long time, a tiny cry of a newborn baby.

“It’s a boy,” Jackson announced.

Jack smiled, remembering when the doctor had said those words to him and Sara.

In a moment, Jackson came back around the partition to O’Neill’s side, digging through his pack once more. “Baby clothes,” Daniel announced as he triumphantly pulled his spare shirt out of the pack.

Jack couldn’t see, but he could hear the rustling, and then the man walked around the partition, a tiny cloth wrapped bundle in his hands. The stranger walked over to O’Neill and leaned down to proudly display the small child.

Jack looked at the newborn, remembering how tiny and red Charlie had been when he was born, crying lustily, proving immediately that he was all O'Neill. This baby was quiet, but his tiny hands were moving. Without thinking, Jack reached out, and clasped the small fingers in his own long, gnarled, grubby ones. The perfect tiny fingers wrapped reflexively tightly
around his. Blinking back the moisture that was suddenly pooling in his eyes, Jack remembered the immense awe, joy and responsibility he’d felt when his son was born, emotions he saw mirrored in the face of the man before him.

“Congratulations,” the Colonel muttered softly. Running his rough hands once more along the smooth skin of the baby’s tiny arm, he added, “Keep him safe. Protect him.”

“I will,” promised the new father. “A child is truly a blessing from God.”

Jack sank back down on the straw, remembering how he’d felt the same way about Charlie being a gift from God and then, in those dark days after his son had been lost, how he had cursed God for snatching back that gift.

Finally, O’Neill slept as the waning hours of the night passed.
*********

When Jack awakened, Daniel brought him water and some warm broth he’d gotten from the innkeeper. O’Neill had consumed most of it when he suddenly realized the barn seemed quiet.

“Hey, what happened to the neighbors?” Jack asked.

“They left before sunrise. Said they had to go,” Daniel explained. “Strange, though,” Daniel added suddenly. “I mean, here we are. It’s Christmas. We end up in a stable, with a couple having a baby…”

O’Neill stared at Jackson. “So?”

“So, it’s like some warped nativity scene, Jack. No room in the inn. Sent out to the stable. Couple having baby. We swaddled him in my shirt… It’s like, Mary and Joseph…”

“That wasn’t their names.”

“Actually, I never did find out their names. So it could have been.”

“Okay, I don’t buy it, but, if this is some whacked out version of the Christmas story, then who were we?” Jack asked.

“The three wise men?” Teal’c interjected.

“Yeah, right, more like the Three Stooges,” O’Neill rolled his eyes. Then he conceded, “Oh, okay, Teal’c might be called wise, and even you, on occasion, Daniel, could be considered wise, but me?”

“I’ve heard you called wise…” Daniel paused theatrically, “wise-ass.”

Jack groaned. “Let’s just get out of here and home, huh?”
*******

The long walk back to the gate gave O’Neill a lot of time to think. So, hey, a big honkin’ hole in the leg wasn’t exactly the kind of Christmas present he’d asked Santa for this year, but it was better that he was the one looking at spending what little remained of Christmas in the infirmary, rather than Capt. Ferguson. Ferguson had a daughter and two little boys, and no kids should be without their dad on Christmas. So, yeah, maybe he hadn’t *gotten* a present on Christmas, but he’d given a pretty damn good one to the Captain, and after all, wasn’t that what Christmas was supposed to be all about? His Grandma back in Minnesota always said that it was better to give than to receive, and Grandma O’Neill was a *very* wise woman.
******

The day after Christmas, Jack was still in the infirmary, much to the chagrin of Dr. Fraiser and her harried nursing staff, and much to the annoyance of the ever impatient Colonel. A knock sounded on his door, which meant it wasn’t a nurse, and frankly, Jack was ready to talk to anyone who wasn’t wearing white and carrying a needle or a tray of pills. “Come in,” he called.

“Sir?” Captain Ferguson walked in, a hesitant smile on his face. “Colonel? Hope I didn’t wake you up or anything?”

“Oh, no, the nurses do a fine job of that, every half hour, all day and all night,” he answered snarkily, then thought better of it. “So, did you have a good Christmas, Captain?”

“Yes, Sir, I did, thanks to you. And then when I heard you’d been hurt, taking my place…”

Jack waved a hand through the air. “It’s nothing. Couple of stitches, couple of days off, and I’ll be good as new.”

“Well, I know these are a little late, but my family just wanted to say thanks…” Ferguson stepped up next to the bed and handed the Colonel a large manila envelope.

Jack opened it slowly, revealing several folded sheets of heavy white paper covered with colorful, childishly scrawled letters spelling out ‘Mery Chirstmas’ and ‘Get Wel Soon’, decorated with stick reindeer and yellow flowers and a bulbous snowman wearing a bright red scarf. A small packet of gummy bears and two bright yellow smiley face stickers spilled out of the envelope onto the blanket. And finally, tucked in with the cards was a photograph of Captain Ferguson, wearing a Santa hat, smiling hugely, with three bright eyed, red-cheeked laughing little kids seated on his lap. Jack smiled.

“Colonel, I’m really sorry about your Christmas…”

“Captain, don’t be. I’m not.” And the surprising truth was, he wasn’t.
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